


Smoke Session

by VindictiveGrace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky has no filter, Drug Use, Ficlet, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sam is a giggling mess, Swearing, the author is living vicariously through her writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 04:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10936557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VindictiveGrace/pseuds/VindictiveGrace
Summary: Bucky comes over and smokes with Sam. While they’re high as fuck, Bucky makes a pass at him.





	Smoke Session

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my Tumblr page [here](https://vindictivegrace.tumblr.com/post/160798209870/smoke-session).
> 
> I’m up late. I’m antsy. I want to smoke. I can’t. So this little fic happened instead.

“Finally, dude. What took you so long?” Sam stepped aside to let Bucky in to his room.

“Sorry, man. I was busy eating your mom out. She always takes too long to cum,” Bucky retorted effortlessly.

“Oh fuck off, man,” Sam laughed, dropping his weight onto the living room sofa next to Bucky. “Did you bring it?”

“Of course.” Bucky pulled out a small bag, setting it on the simple coffee table in front of them. He pulled out a mason jar, its contents obscured with fabric softener sheets.

“To block the smell while traveling,” Bucky answered the unspoken question in Sam’s quizzical expression.

Bucky opened the jar and fit the green nub into the glass pipe’s bowl. He lit the nub and sucked hard until it caught the flame and glowed. When he was satisfied, he passed the pipe and lighter to Sam. Bucky held in his breath for a couple seconds, then blew out long and slow. “There’s no hole. Just suck,” he advised.

Sam nodded mid-inhalation. He sighed out the thick smoke, letting his body sink back into the sofa. Bucky gave his weight to the sofa too, humming pleasantly. He could already feel his head getting heavy, the high taking over.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he crooned.

“Same,” Sam replied. He handed the pipe and lighter over to Bucky, who took another deep hit.

They passed it back and forth idly, letting the silence hang between them along with the smoke. After several minutes of taking hits, the ashes were completely useless. Bucky packed up everything and sat back, ready to soar.

Several minutes, or seconds…hours?…later, Sam squirmed around. “Uh, Buck…you’re sitting on my hand.”

Bucky looked over to Sam, and cocked an eyebrow. “No I’m not.”

“Uh, yeah, you are.” Sam turned his hand around and started wiggling his fingers the best he could, tickling Bucky below. Bucky squirmed about and yelped. He rolled over off the sofa, knocking a few limbs into the coffee table on the way down.

“What the fuck was that Sam??”

Sam busted out laughing, his giggling immediately kicking up a couple octaves. There wasn’t going to be a reply from him, not for several minutes, not when he was like this. Sam pointed at Bucky then doubled over, laying his head in his lap, then pulled up, laughing to no one in ceiling. He huffed in and out quickly, trying to catch a breath and contain himself, only to descend into chaotic laughter again.

“So tickling my balls makes you giggle like a schoolgirl?”

Sam giggled harder. His body shook. He was crying now.

Bucky stared up at him, mesmerized. Nothing lit up a room brighter than Sam’s untempered joy, even if it was at Bucky’s expense. But while Sam was a giggling mess at the height of their smoke session, Bucky was a ‘fuck it I’ll say whatever I want and deal with the fallout later’ kind of guy.

“I’d let you juggle my balls if it makes you that happy.” And there went Bucky’s filter.

That got Sam to stop laughing. His already squinted bloodshot eyes narrowed down at Bucky. It was hard to tell if his eyes were even open. “What did you just say??”

“I said I’d let you juggle my balls if you want. You’re not deaf, Sammy boy.”

Sam felt his cheeks heat up. Was Bucky being serious?

“Sammy boy??” he echoed incredulously.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Bucky flipped over and sat on his heels, peering up at Sam with bloodshot eyes of his own. “My Sammy boy,” Bucky dragged out breathily.

That went straight to Sam’s groin. Bucky was just being an idiot right now, wasn’t he? But then there were all those times Sam caught Bucky turning his head away quickly at team meetings, at meal times, during training, even during missions. Sam kept brushing them off as coincidences, even though they happened so often he knew they weren’t.

Then there were all the times Sam had spent in bed, wide awake all night long, hands down his pants, imagining flesh and metal hands running all over his body until Bucky lined himself up and slammed into his—

Sam tested him.

“Nuh-uh, Bucky. You want me so bad? Come find me when you’re not high as hell.”

“Fine. You got it, Sammy boy.”

There. That would do the trick. If Bucky was kidding, they could both write it off as bullshit they say whenever they got high together. They bullshitted together so much, high and sober, Bucky’s proposition could easily be tossed aside with the rest of their mindless banter. Sam was sure he had it figured out.

But when Bucky showed up at his door the next day, sober as a cold shower, Sam was glad he had it all wrong.

—End—


End file.
